


I've Been Anywhere

by unstablekybercrystal



Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bi Stensland, Eventual Smut, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay Clyde, Hannah's his best friend they're not together, Kinda, Love at First Sight, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Romance, Stens is anxious 24/7, Stensland is a disaster bi, Vers Clyde, Vers Stensland, and they were ROOMMATES, hand holding, oh my god they were roommates, this is just soft and funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstablekybercrystal/pseuds/unstablekybercrystal
Summary: Stensland discovers airbnb, but begins to wonder what he's supposed to do exactly when his guest turns out to be the literal man of his dreams, the love of his life, the weed to his bong, the strawberry to his milk.





	1. How to Attempt To Woo a Stranger While Getting Groceries

**SUNDAY**

 

“So that’s it? That means he wants to live with me?” Stensland leaned over, shoving his phone in Hannah’s face.

“Move that thing. But yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way to him, but yeah. He’s getting the room.” She pushed the phone away and sat up, brushing Dorito crumbs off the front of her shirt. “I might have to go, by the way. I promised Georgia I’d see a movie with her, and she’s gonna be pissed off if I’m late. I don’t want to ruin this for myself.”

Stens nodded sagely. “You better fucking see that movie.” He inhaled to say something else, then thought better of it and closed his mouth.

“No, you can’t come on my date.”

“I knew you would say that, so I didn’t ask if I could come on your date. I just really have been _itching_ to see _Black Panther._ ”

“That movie’s been out of theaters for a year, Stensland.” Hannah stood up and straightened out her shirt, shaking the rest of the crumbs off. “Well, I gotta go. It’s been real, as usual.”

Six months ago, Stensland had gone on his first date with Hannah. It was also their last date, since Stensland had needed a break after shit had hit the fan with Morgan, and Hannah had confessed that she was really looking for more of a girlfriend. Since then, they had both been trying their hardest to find the other one a partner. Hannah had actually found Georgia herself, since Stensland knew probably three women in the entire city of Seattle, but hey. It was the thought that counted. He’d also found it was much easier having his friend trudging over the debris in his disgusting, shitty apartment than it would be to have his prospective girlfriend there. Hannah had plenty of friends already, but Stensland had found that he should probably increase his friend count from 2 to 3, so friends they became. Stensland would go as far as to say _best friends_ , but he wasn’t the most adept at discerning that type of thing.

Hannah had also introduced Stensland to airbnb, which he’d thought was absolutely ridiculous. Who would want to go on vacation to the part of Seattle that was a 40 minute bus ride away from anything worth seeing? And _why_ would they want to stay in his flat, which smelled distinctly of armpit (his), weed (his), and denture cream (not his; it belonged to the old lady a floor up, but _man_ was that stuff potent). But, as it turns out, someone actually had: a guy from West Virginia had answered a week after Stensland had put the listing up. Stensland knew nothing about him except that his name was apparently C. Logan, he was a man, and his profile picture was one of an eagle flying through a blue sky. It wasn’t a condor, but it seemed symbolic, so Stensland had graciously accepted.

Hannah headed for the door, then stopped. “Great, I’m gonna smell like weed. It’s in my clothes. You’d better Venmo me for the damage.”

“I’d better do _what_? That doesn’t sound appropriate,” Stensland said, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“I’ll introduce you to more wonders of technology later. Bye, Stens,” Hannah said, and with a slam of the door, she was gone. Stensland sat back, still slightly stoned from the day that he and Hannah had spent watching _Love Actually_ and a couple (okay, six) episodes of _Dawson’s Creek._ He wasn’t sure what to think of the quick response to his airbnb, and thought that maybe it was spam and C. Logan was actually breaking into his bank account, but all he’d find was $45.60 (and that was without the debt).

At least it was going to be just one person, and not a family or a couple. Stensland wasn’t feeling up to listening to their sexual escapades all the time: not now, not ever. He had no idea what C. Logan looked like or acted like, but he seemed polite enough in his message. Stensland opened up the app and stared at it for a few seconds before clicking on his only stream of messages, which he’d been reading over and over again.

_C. Logan: Hello, I’m interested in your listing. I would only be here for a week or so, and I can pay up front if that’s all right for you. I’ll be coming from Charlotte, North Carolina on the 10th of February._

_stensland m.: that’s all right for me!! why would that not be all right for me?_

_C. Logan: Fantastic. How many bathrooms do you have? And do you have a washing machine?_

_stensland m.: the washing machine is shite, but yeah. only 1 bathroom though_

_C. Logan: Thank you._

Within five minutes, C. Logan had booked Stensland’s shitty extra room before Stensland had even been able to ask why. He’d tried to clean up as much as possible, but the shower and the kitchen counter were so covered in a fine layer of grime that he’d had to really put his back into it. After maybe an hour of deep, intense cleaning, Stensland’s entire body ached, he _really_ needed to pee, and he hadn’t even started on the bathroom sink. Part of him didn’t even believe the guy would show up, and another part thought he might storm out once he saw the state of the place. What was West Virginia like anyway? It definitely wasn’t a place where peeling wallpaper and a leaky pipe were _normal_ , but maybe C. Logan was a nice man who wouldn’t mind the quiet _drip drip_ that always kept Stensland up.

Stensland threw his phone back onto the couch, huffing quietly to himself and laying his head onto one of the cushions. He was ready to drift off to sleep when the phone buzzed again, an airbnb message lighting up the screen.

_C. Logan: I’m so sorry to bother you. Would you mind if I showed up a bit early?_

_stensland m.: like how early?? tuesday’s fine but wednesdays are complete bullshit for me_

_C. Logan: Tomorrow. I know this is short notice but I accidentally booked tickets for tonight instead of the 9th. I’m probably able to get a hotel if you can’t do that._  

Stensland frowned. Maybe this was sketch. C. Logan didn’t even have a first fucking name. What if he was an axe murderer or a kidnapper? What if he _was_ bringing his extremely hot girlfriend, and they’d be fucking all night while Stensland was confined to his room with his headphones on? But then again, booking the wrong ticket seemed like something Stens himself would do, were he to acquire the funds necessary to actually set foot on a plane.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if he really had anything of value, and if C. was looking to steal something, he probably wouldn’t have picked the cheapest listing. There were countless other crimes C. Logan could commit, but Stensland had pepper spray in his bedside drawer at all times, just in case. He just hoped that the guy wasn’t fucking gigantic.

_stensland m.: okay, sounds good to me. just so you know the house might not be as clean as i’d like it to be because i’m currently in the process of cleaning it_

_stensland m.: but that’s not to say i’m disgusting or anything. i simply have a lot of kitchen grease in the kitchen. well, i did. but it’s gone now so you don’t have to worry about it._

_C. Logan: I’ll pay you in cash for the first couple days. Thank you for letting me stay with you._

Stensland breathed out of his nose. The _thank you_ was so nice. C. hadn’t _had_ to say thank you. He was the one paying Stensland, but he’d thanked him anyway. It shouldn’t have had the effect that it did on Stensland, but he felt his face get warm. He didn’t even know what C. looked like, much less what he acted like, but it was sweet nonetheless. And anyway, it’s not like Stensland was daydreaming about a picnic by the lake with the guy.

It was just nice to be acknowledged for once.

——

 

**MONDAY**

 

_I wonder if my cock is weird. Do I have a weird cock? Maybe that’s my problem._

Water washed over Stensland as he held his dick in one hand and a bottle of strawberry shower gel in the other. He’d already indulged himself, but now that the aftereffects were done, he was left staring at his body like he always did. His arms were fine; they were skinny but he liked their shape, and he felt the same way about his legs, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the rest of himself. He was a little soft, since he was mostly powered by pot, ramen noodles, and Wendy’s 4 for $4, but he never really gave that any thought. It was more that he, Stensland, as a whole was weird-looking and gawky, and he didn’t know _why_ he was obsessing over himself like this.

“Just get the hell out of the shower,” Stensland muttered to himself, and he did. He shook out his hair, glancing at the message on the wall before wrapping himself in the new towel he’d let himself buy. Hannah had said he needed to practice more self care, and what said self care more than a soft towel, a box of Twinkies, and a sheet mask?

Stensland ran to his room, shivering from the unrelenting chill, and pulled his favorite multicolored sweater over his head. His towel was still tied as tight as humanly possible around his hips, and he shivered at the realization that he hadn’t dried off enough before putting on his shirt. Oh, well, he’d be warm enough if he put on another sweater and his vest; he hadn’t gotten around to purchasing a winter coat yet, since none of the ones at Goodwill were really to his liking. Hannah had taken him to her favorite thrift store at one point, but the only coat he’d wanted was a holographic pink juniors’ puffer coat, which Hannah had declined buying for him. He’d assured her that “clothes have no gender” (a verbatim phrase from the Internet), but according to her, Stensland’s gender hadn’t been the problem with the coat.

So he pulled a pair of ratty sweatpants on, gray ones with “Saint Mary’s High School” emblazoned across the hip. That was the abominable school that he’d transferred to when he was 16; he’d gone there after being relentlessly bullied at the school before that, and the one before that… 

Stensland shook his head, trying not to think about that or the fact that his skinny ankles popped out of the bottom of the pants. It didn’t matter; he was just going to get some groceries at Price Chopper and then maybe put jeans on before seeing his temporary housemate. He didn’t look _disgusting_ , which was really all that mattered.

The walk to Price Chopper was long and cold, but Stensland didn’t want to bother with waiting for the bus, not while he was going to have a guest coming any minute. The prospect was so exciting, he skipped a couple times, making sure there weren’t any cars or pedestrians to see him. At one point, a grey sedan sped around the corner while Stensland was mid-skip, and he almost fell on his face. 

Once he was inside the supermarket, though, he’d mostly recovered from the shock of it, though the knot in his stomach was still tightly wound. But it was fine, everything was _fine,_ his housemate would like him, _you’re not the smartest, you're not the coolest, you're not the best-looking—_

“‘Scuse me. Would you mind if I got these eggs?”

Stensland froze. He felt a shadow lurking behind him, and he took a deep breath. He realized he’d been leaning up against a shelf in the dairy aisle, wheezing like he’d just run a marathon, and he hadn’t even noticed that he dropped his guacamole right next to someone with _gigantic_ work boots who was also absolutely the low-voiced person who had just asked for eggs.

“Sorry. Yeah.” Stensland bent down to pick up the opened tub of guacamole, and some dripped onto the floor. He let out a small “shit!!” under his breath, before grabbing the slimy mess and getting it all over his hands and the front of his shirt.

“You need a paper towel or something?” the man next to Stensland asked, and finally Stensland turned to meet the most beautiful hazel eyes he had ever seen. He almost felt his knees go weak, but luckily his body spared him any further damage. The man in question was even taller than Stensland’s 6’1, and broad enough to probably fit a Stensland and a half across him. His soft-looking button up still strained to contain his chest in the middle, and his arms (with one prosthetic hand, Stensland noted, but he didn’t really care about that) even looked muscular through its long sleeves. And his _hair_ , oh my god, it was long and thick and luscious, framing his angular face perfectly. Stensland’s eyes were drawn to his large nose and lips, which should have looked awkward together but instead looked _kissable_ , like Stens could just alternate between kissing them every single second of every single day for the rest of his life—

“I can ask for a paper towel or something if you want,” the man repeated, searching Stensland’s face with a look of concern.

 _Fuck, I was being weird again. Nice one, Stensland._ “Yeah,” Stensland squeaked, his voice higher than usual. “Sorry. I’m not even high. Today. I mean— I’m just a bit frazzled, you know how it is.” 

The man nodded sagely. “I get it,” he rumbled, and Stensland would swear on his mam’s grave that he could feel that voice all the way down in his toes. “I’ll go ask. You just stay here.” And he rushed away, leaving Stensland alone with guac hands and a face redder than his hair. He screwed up, he always fucking screwed everything up, maybe that man was his _soul mate_ and he’d ruined their divinely orchestrated meeting.

Before his mind could produce any more unwanted thoughts, the man came back with a slightly perturbed looking teenage girl holding a mop and wearing a Price Chopper cap and a smock. “Here it is. Thank you so much,” he said to her.

She nodded. “It’s fine.”

There was something different about the man’s voice that seemed significant but that Stensland couldn’t place exactly. For now, he couldn’t wait to get away from the refrigerated section and leave before he made a fool of himself. Soul mates be damned; he was leaving.

As he started to push his cart away, making a beeline for the registers, the man came up next to him. God, he was beautiful. “I got you some more guac, too,” he said, and placed it in Stensland’s cart gently. Stensland was still a bit apprehensive, because this was the type of man who would beat him up behind a bar, but he seemed nice enough, even if he was built like a brick fucking shithouse.

“Thank you,” Stensland said, and before he could stop himself, “you didn’t have to do that, though. If I walked back home with avocado on my hands, no one would even think it was weird at this point.”

The man chuckled, and the sound was as deep and satisfying as his voice. (Stensland’s brain supplied an image of himself laying on Brick Shithouse’s chest as he laughed, but he quickly banished it.) “You live near here? I’m staying with someone, but I’m not sure how to find their address.”

Stensland nodded, before realizing that maybe this was a ploy so that Brick Shithouse could rob him and take his microwave or something. But it was too late now. “What’s your friend’s address?”

He told Stensland the address, and yes, Stensland knew where it was. He knew _exactly where it fucking was_ , because it was _his apartment._ He heard his own blood pumping past his ears and tried to say something clever, like _Fancy meeting you here_ or _Maybe this was the handiwork of the Fates themselves and we were meant to be,_  but all that came out was a chirped, “C. Logan?”

C. looked confused for a second until realization dawned across his features. “Oh, wait! Stensland?” He’d pronounced it slightly wrong, like the last syllable of his name was the word “land”, but Stensland didn’t even notice. He was too busy being terrified that he’d have to spend DAYS with such a _sexy_ person in his house. Of course— C. had a Southern accent, he was asking for directions so he wasn’t from Seattle, and he was buying food for his stay at Stensland’s.

“I’m him. Yeah. I’m Stensland,” Stens said lamely. He knew his hands were shaking, and his voice was pinched, but he let out a maniacal laugh nonetheless. “I’m the house. I mean, it’s my house that you’re staying in.”

“I like your accent,” said C. casually, as if he hadn’t just seen Stensland make a court fucking jester of himself in front of the entire store.

Stensland only smiled again and willed his physical form to become one with the linoleum Price Chopper floor tiles. _You've got something_ _that attracts people. You've got something_ _that attracts the ladies. (And the men, in this case.) They don't know what it is, you don't know what it is, but it's there, cocooned, growing—_ “Do you think you could drive me back?” Stensland blurted out, desperate to say anything beyond gibberish and stumbling phrases.

“‘Course, as long as you show me where it is,” said C. “Also, my name’s Clyde, so you don’t have to call me C. Logan again.”

 _Clyde. Clyde and Stensland. Stensland and Clyde._ Stensland shook his head again and prayed to every deity of every pantheon that he hadn’t said that out loud. “I’m Stensland. But you already know that. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He awkwardly stuck out his hand before realizing that it was the wrong one, and that maybe Clyde didn’t want to shake Stensland’s hand with his prosthetic.

Clyde just shook with his flesh hand, which was a bit unwieldy, but Stensland didn’t comment on it. “Nice to meet you too. I’m gonna go check out, but you can meet me at the car. If you’re looking for me, I’ll be the man standing by his car.”

Stensland barked out a laugh at that, and Clyde looked shocked before actually smiling for a second. He turned away, and Stensland couldn’t help feeling that maybe his intuition wasn’t wrong, that maybe Clyde was one of the people who would actually be nice to him for once.

But who was he to get his hopes up?


	2. How To Mediate An Aggressive Battle Between Your Dignity And A Man With Pretty Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stensland has a big, handsome man in his house. Finally.

“Oh, god, and the woman who lives there is a veritable grump. A big old GROUCH. Her dog pissed on Mr. Adeyemi’s lawn, and he’s super old so he didn’t know, but his daughter saw and man, were her pants in a twist! And then Mrs. Grump—not sure of her name but that’s what I think of her as—tries to _sue_ Mr. Adeyemi’s daughter, and then I guess someone called the police for some unknown reason. And _that’s_ where my dealer lives. Don’t report him. His name is James. He’s got samurai swords on the wall and I was eyeing them the first time I got in there because he could have just taken one down and skewered me like a shish kebab.” Stensland said, pointing at the house.

Clyde nodded. “I like shish kebabs. Had ‘em at a fair once.”

Stensland knew he was being annoying, but he couldn’t seem to stop. There was only so much he could show Clyde in this part of Seattle, but Clyde did seem mildly interested. Every so often, he’d let out a little “huh”, or his face would change, and Stens caught himself staring more than once.

Stensland also noticed that Clyde had a little dial on his steering wheel that he turned instead of the wheel. He’d almost commented on how cool it was, but decided against it. Clyde hadn’t mentioned his hand yet, so Stens didn’t either.

It was nice talking to Clyde; he was quiet, but in an attentive way. He didn’t seem to be ignoring Stensland, and he didn’t mind his incessant chatter, so Stens took that as license to talk. “We’re almost there,” he warned Clyde, who had started to speed up a little. “You take a left— look out for that dog, Jesus— and then a right, and then a left, and then another left. And that left is my driveway, so you’re there. But be careful, because there are some potholes, so don’t go too quickly or your car might flip over like in an action movie. Does that actually happen? I wonder if that’s a thing. You’d have to have a lot of momentum to flip a car. Maybe two potholes next to each other could.”

“I would never have found this place without you,” Clyde said, and Stensland hoped he didn’t look like he was glowing. “All these houses look the same.”

“Not true! That one’s green, that one’s a halfway house, that one gets huge icicles hanging from it in the winter. They really need to fix their insulation or the house is going to be freezing and their gutter’s gonna snap off. That one’s yellow, or goldenrod if you’re being specific, which I like to be, and that one has the most _disgusting_ fake flowers in front of it. At least Soft Solutions’ fake flowers are pretty,” Stensland scoffed, pushing back a strand of fringe that had started to hang in front of his eyes. He knew Clyde wasn’t listening. No one ever actually paid attention to what he said when he went off on a tangent

“I don’t know what that is, Soft Solutions,” said Clyde, “but I’m sure most places have better fake flowers than whatever those are.” Aha! So he was listening! Clyde took a sharp left onto Stensland’s street, and Stensland almost toppled into his side before grabbing onto the side of his seat to break his fall. Then he silently cursed himself; he could have at least brushed Clyde’s shoulder with his or something.

Clyde looked incredibly cute, and Stensland felt a knot in his stomach. What was he going to do with himself for the next week if he was already thinking about how strong Clyde was, how big the hand gripping the steering wheel was, and how adorably awkward his ears looked with his cap on? He closed his eyes for a second to ground himself, before answering Clyde. “Soft Solutions is a furniture store. The best one, actually, and I work there. I think they have a Charlotte branch, so if you ever need a couch, or a chair, or a bookshelf, or even just a splash of color for your home via a throw pillow, we’ve got it.”

Clyde smiled, and Stens felt his little Pisces heart beat faster in his chest. “I’m not too up to date on furniture stores.”

“We should go!” Stensland blurted, before he could stop himself. _Why the fuck would Clyde want to go to a furniture store? He probably wants to go to a barbecue or something. Or a sports… thing. I’m going to bury myself alive._ Luckily, he was saved any further humiliation when Clyde turned onto his street. “Oh! That’s my place up there, on the left.”

Clyde turned into his driveway with a slight jerk, and Stensland almost toppled into him again. He had to calm down, he was acting like a loser and a geek and a bunch of other things that kids had called him when he was in school that he didn’t even want to repeat mentally. He closed his eyes, took a couple deep breaths, and by the time he was done, Clyde had parked the car.

“You alright there?” Clyde asked. He sounded especially concerned, and there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Stens cracked an eye open. “Yeah. Just, uh, breathing exercises. My therapist-- nothing. It’s whatever.”

Clyde smiled, a soft, closed-mouth one, and Stensland searched his face for any sort of ridicule. For the first time in a while, he found none. “I guess I should get some of your bags from the boot— uh, the trunk for you.” He pushed his hair back again, only to have it fall back into his eyes a second later.

“I only have one suitcase,” said Clyde. “I got it. You can help get the groceries.”

“How domestic,” Stensland said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Not in a weird way. It was just a joke.” He let out that stupid, high-pitched nervous laugh, and wanted to pummel himself. “Sorry. That was highly inappropriate, and as your host I don’t want to make you unc—”

“Stensland,” Clyde said, and _oh his voice is so deep._ “You’re fine. You don’t have to keep worrying like that. You can unlock the door for me, I’ll be right in with my suitcase.”

Stensland nodded mutely, and headed up the stairs toward his door. His hands were shaking as he rummaged through his vest pocket for his keys, because Clyde probably thought he was crazy, even if he wasn’t showing it. And his house, oh god, his apartment was dirty and he’d forgotten to vacuum the living room and the lightbulb over the stove was out and, speaking of the stove, one of the burners was broken. Clyde would _hate_ it.

But then again, Clyde was gentle, even if he still was probably learning how to drive with his new steering wheel. He hadn’t once condescended to Stensland, and he didn’t seem stuck-up or snotty. He took another deep breath and unlocked the door, ignoring the twist in his gut when the overwhelming smell of weed wafted out. Clyde didn’t seem like a pot smoker, so he hid his bong under the coffee table and waited for his guest by the door.

While Stensland would have struggled to haul his suitcase up the stairs, Clyde picked it up with his flesh-and-blood hand and carried it up like it weighed nothing. “Thank you, Stensland,” he said, as Stens pulled the door open wider. Stensland just grinned back, trying to be a little less of a chatterbox and more of a host, who would lead Clyde to his room and help him set up. When Stensland smiled, Clyde’s face changed minutely; maybe he had food in his teeth or something.

“Where should I put this?” Clyde asked. His face was inches from Stensland’s, and his eyes looked more honey brown than hazel in the yellowish light. Stensland could count the freckles scattered across Clyde’s face, and the more Clyde looked at him with those soulful eyes, the more Stensland felt like he might pass out.

“Second room down,” Stensland answered. His voice came out squeakier than he would have liked, but when did it not? A depraved, gremlin-like lobe of his brain wanted this to somehow turn into a terrible porno, where Clyde would turn back to him and say, “Okay, but I think I’d rather stay in your room tonight,” and Stensland would say, “Sounds like a plan, big boy,” and then they’d wipe away their inhibitions, have unrealistic anal sex, and orgasm at the same time. But the rest of Stensland’s brain thought that was a terrible idea and knew this was real life, so he doggedly followed Clyde to the room that was bereft of all furnishings except for the bed that had come with the place.

“It’s not much. My roommate Lyle used to live here, but then he moved in with his girlfriend. Bad choice, in my opinion. They’re not going to last. He’s allergic to her Pomeranian and she hates his cologne.” Stensland flicked a spot of dust off the bedpost. “I can bring in a lamp or something.”

Clyde shook his head. “This is fine. There’s already a light on the ceiling. I’m gonna be out for most of the days, anyway.”

Despite all logic, Stensland felt his heart drop. Of course Clyde wasn’t going to be home all day, and neither was Stensland, but a more wholesome lobe of his brain wanted to spend the day with Clyde. Maybe they could cook together; Stensland could make pasta and maybe Clyde could make grits. Stensland didn’t know what grits were, but he knew that they were eaten by people in the South and that Clyde was from West Virginia.

“Why would you come here, anyway?” Stensland asked. The question had been on his mind ever since Clyde booked the room. People from the East Coast didn’t really come to this part of Seattle very often, and especially not for so long.

Surprisingly, Stensland could have sworn he saw Clyde’s cheeks color. “It’s, uh, it’s actually because one of my favorite movies takes place here, and I got some more money than I usually do, so I decided to go somewhere that—“

“It better not be _The Ring_ ,” Stensland interrupted. “That movie scares the ever-living shite out of me.”

Clyde shook his head. “I ain’t never seen that.”

“Okay. This is worse, but, _Fifty Shades—_ “

“No! Hell no, Stensland. It’s less embarrassing than that. It’s, uh, it’s this movie called _10 Things I Hate About You_ , and I know it’s a movie for teenage girls but I have a younger sister and when I watched it with her, I just liked it a lot.”

Stensland could barely make out what Clyde was saying by the end of his sentence, because he could _swear_ he heard cymbals crash in his mind. Or maybe some sort of elated birdsong, or fireworks going off, or whatever sound was used to alert one to the fact that they may have found their true love. This was it. It had to be it. If Clyde liked _10 Things I Hate About You_ , then maybe he’d watch it with Stensland, which would lead Stensland to casually mention his complete boxed sets of _Dawson’s Creek_ , which would somehow lead to them being in a committed long-term relationship. He hadn’t quite figured out that last part yet.

“I _love_ that movie,” Stensland blurted. “I had a crush on Kat when I was younger. And Cameron, a little bit. I’m bisexual, I hope that doesn’t bother you. And I know that it’s a movie for teenagers, I would even venture to say particularly teenage girls, and I’m neither of those things but I was one of those things when I saw the movie for the first time. A teenager. And I really liked it. And you don’t have to apologize to me for liking stuff that people say isn’t _manly_ or whatever because that’s fake. It’s all FAKE BULLSHIT.”

Poor Clyde looked dumbstruck by Stensland’s accidental tirade. His mouth actually had dropped open, and Stensland’s nerves fired off a thousand impulses to _get out of there,_ because even if Clyde liked rom-coms, he still could beat Stensland to a pulp whenever he wanted. But Stensland didn’t leave; instead, he flashed a huge, hopefully winning smile at Clyde, to attempt to placate him. When Clyde looked still more bewildered, Stensland felt his shoulders sag. “I’ll get out. Sorry. That was weird.”

He started for the door, face burning, when Clyde called after him. “No, it’s okay. I just agree with you, is all.”

Stensland stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Wow. Okay,” he said stupidly. He felt like he was short-circuiting.

“Yeah. Where I’m from, most people don’t agree with that type of thing. Certain things are for men or women, but I figured you were open to me liking stuff that’s not, you know. That.” Clyde looked _nervous_ , Stensland realized. Not judgmental or unkind, just nervous. All 6 feet 3 inches of him was drawn in on itself, and he absentmindedly picked at the hem of his plaid shirt. Stensland even wanted to _comfort_ him, even though he was bigger and broader than Stens could hope to be. It was those big, sad eyes, the slight natural pout of his lower lip, the dots smattered across his face unevenly; Stens was just _done for_. Maybe even more done for than he had been with Morgan.

“Well, you’re free to watch any movies you’d like in here. Well, not in here. In the living room. I won’t say anything about it.” Stens fruitlessly tried to wrangle his hair into something a little more neat, a little more trustworthy, a little more like the hair of someone a handsome man like Clyde would want to stay with for a week and a half.

“I was actually thinking of doing that,” Clyde said thoughtfully, and his accent seemed to curl around Stensland like a warm blanket. He’d rather have Clyde’s warmth pressed up against him, cuddled together on the couch, but he was a host and he had to be hospitable. "Let's go to where the TV is."

“I would very much enjoy that, Clyde,” Stensland said after a pause. The journey to the living room only took a few seconds, but it felt like hours to Stens. Clyde flopped onto the couch, and Stens followed, careful to not sit too close to Clyde as much as he wanted to.

Clyde had already picked up the remote. When he felt the couch indent next to him, he turned to Stens and smiled. He _actually smiled._ “You have that Netflix?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, um, it’s not technically mine but this man who— Well, this guy I know let me use his.” Stens got up to rummage through a drawer for the cable that connected his shitty old laptop to his shittier, older TV. Clyde hadn’t commented once on the state of the apartment, not even with his body language, though Stensland wasn’t exactly the best at decoding that.

“We can just watch cable, if it’s any extra trouble,” Clyde said suddenly.

“It’s fine. I got it. I just have to put the cord into the thing.” Stensland’s hand was wrist-deep in junk, and he still couldn’t find the fucking cord.

“Cord’s over here.” Clyde gestured to the floor next to his foot, where sure enough, the cord was coiled like an obnoxious little snake. Clyde picked it up and held it out to Stens, who was very obviously and inconveniently flushed bright red. “You must’ve--”

“I must have used it. It’s fine. Brain fart,” Stensland said, and then cringed at his own words. He picked up the cord like it was on fire and plugged it in. He could feel Clyde taking in the whole apartment, and looking at _him_ , and god, maybe he should have at least tried to make a ghost of an effort today. He’d been an idiot to think Clyde had any feelings toward someone like him besides pity.

“We should watch somethin’, I don’t know, a little scary,” Clyde suggested.

 _Come on._ Clyde really did want to see Stensland at his most pathetic, no matter what his _gorgeous_ eyes seemed to say. But he was the guest, so Stensland nodded. “You can pick. Warning: I’m jumpy. But you probably didn’t have to hear me say that to know it.”

They eventually decided on _The Conjuring_ , since, according to Clyde, it was less scary than _Silence of the Lambs_ but still fun. Clyde’s idea of fun must have been different than Stensland’s, though, because Stensland found himself jumping at every little noise.

“Fuck,” Stensland said, curled up into a tight little ball, “why would she go into the basement? Her kids aren’t in the fucking basement!”

“So the movie can happen,” Clyde replied. He was the picture of ease next to the quivering mass of blanket beside him.

“She’s an imbecile! Pfft, this isn’t even—“ The slam of the basement door onscreen caused Stens to visibly jump at least an inch out of his seat. For once in his life, he was shocked into silence. Momentarily, he was even oblivious to Clyde’s radiating warmth next to him; that is, until two hands appeared and clapped next to the main character’s face.

“ _OH SWEET BABY JESUS,_ ” Stensland screamed in a voice that was at least an octave higher than his regular, already warbly one. His body jerked, and he crashed directly into something soft.

And that softness was Clyde’s lap, because of course it fucking had to be. _And Clyde didn’t move._ He didn’t even grimace, or push Stensland’s offending head of dandelion-fluff hair off his lap, or call Stensland a motherfucking pussy. Clyde just laughed, the same low sound from before, but amplified. It came from deep within his stomach, and he threw his head back as if to catch all of the joy hanging in the air in his mouth.

Stensland looked up at the man supporting him, and every single organ in his body found some way to betray him. His head was pillowed by a generous thigh, so naturally he couldn’t think straight; his heartbeat was almost definitely irregular and required medical attention, and his mouth joined in with the laughter until neither of them could really breathe.

“Your face—“ Clyde exclaimed. “God, that was better than when I watched it with my brother. He yelled, but your eyes— they went so wide— and you kind of hiccuped and then you screamed—” Clyde paused, because they’d completely forgotten about the movie in favor of laughing like two hyenas who’d just had major oral surgery and had been put to sleep for the procedure. Stensland’s laughs had become silent, just racking gasps, and Clyde put a big hand on his back. “You good, Stensland?”

Stens nodded. It was a lie. He was not good. Maybe Clyde had meant well, with the whole hand-on-back comforting thing, but it just made Stensland even more out of breath and, quite frankly, a bit horny in his oxygen-deprived state. Which was _just fucking great._

Stensland tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like his therapist in high school told him to. “I’m. I’m okay. I’m just a very outward person, you know. I wear my, uh, my emotions upon my sleeve. I think I’m crying a little.” Stensland sniffed; he didn’t need snot threatening to barrel out of his nose at this exact moment.

“A little,” Clyde agreed, and— _was he dreaming_ — Stensland felt a thick, calloused finger wipe under his eyes. Clyde Logan, hot Airbnb user from West Virginia, had just wiped his grown-man tears like it was a completely normal thing to do. Stensland had a slight hunch that this verged past “bro” territory, and he would give anything to be able to just sit up a little bit and kiss Clyde on the couch, with the ambient death screams of the movie on the TV as a soundtrack. But if Stens has learned anything from the past month, it was that he was no Casanova, and that he probably didn’t even have the ability to become one, so he just stayed where he was. It was still a sort of message; he was on Clyde’s leg, after all, and Clyde had just DRIED HIS TEARS.

“Thanks,” Stensland said, barely loud enough for Clyde to hear. He had no idea what else to say.

Stensland had always been the type of man who dared to hope. He hoped he got a job, he hoped he would maybe be able to develop some muscle, he hoped that he’d one day move into a place that didn’t have a black mold infestation. And right now, every single little ginger cell in Stensland’s body was hoping that 1) Clyde liked men, 2) he particularly liked men who were Stensland, and 3) Stens wasn’t just making shit up that he thought was true but he had no proof for.

For the rest of the movie, they didn’t do much else but sit and watch. Stens closed his eyes, just to rest them, and before he finally fell asleep, he could have sworn he felt a hand card through his hair for a moment. But he was probably just dreaming it.

 

—-

 

That evening, Stensland dreamt about tits.

Well, he shouldn’t say _tits_ , it sounded derogatory, but _breasts_ sounded medical and _boobs_ sounded like he was 13, so tits it was. And when he woke up, he saw some more tits, which was far more surprising.

The bare tits were attached to a shirtless Clyde Logan, who was leaning over Stensland expectantly. Someone had brought Stens to his bed (HAD CLYDE PICKED HIM UP?), and now Clyde was standing over him looking like he’d seen a ghost. Stens blinked a couple times, wondering if maybe this was just a remnant of his last dream carried over into the real world.

“You were crying,” Clyde said. “In your sleep. I, uh, I heard it. I had to— I wanted to check if you were okay.” He looked more worried than he should; Lyle never cared when Stensland cried at inconvenient times.

“Sad dream,” said Stensland, trying to look at Clyde’s eyes more than his chest. Finding that almost impossible with them hovering directly over him, he buried his face in his pillow. “I just kind of do this. I’m fine. Go do your little tourist adventure. I don’t mean that in a mean way. I have work.”

“Oh,” Clyde said. Thankfully, he stood up, so that his wide chest wasn’t completely in Stensland’s field of vision. “Are there any days you don’t have work?” He still looked concerned, but maybe he just always looked like that.

Stensland popped his head up and nodded. “This week it’s, uh, I don’t know. I’ll check my schedule when I’m more alive.”

Clyde made a thoughtful little “hmm” noise, which half-asleep Stensland found extremely enticing, and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “Maybe you can show me the sights.”

“Definitely! I want to do that, so bad. I need to show you… oh, what’s it called… the Ferris wheel at the… place. Like a big bridge but with stuff on it.”

“Go back to sleep,” Clyde intoned, like it was an order, and Stens nodded sleepily. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but he had no idea what time it was. Before he fell back into his nice tit dreams, he felt the same feeling of someone running their hands through his hair. He looked up, saw Clyde looking back down at him, and grinned before falling back into a deep, deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! i've had so much schoolwork, but it's here! damn, stensland doesn't really know how to go slow when it comes to Romance. and clyde just doesn't know how to do anything romantic at all. more disaster gays IN PUBLIC coming soon!


	3. How To Rush Into Things Despite Your Better Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stensland blows it (no, not like that.) Clyde opens up (NO, NOT LIKE THAT)!!

Stensland has blown it. Oh, he really did it this time.

The last three days had been an absolute hell at work, and not even sitting on the soft suede cushions of Soft Solutions’ Sedona Sofa (with 3 reclining speeds) during his break could relax him. And whenever Stensland was stressed, he got takeout from Panda Express or McDonald’s and hid, hermit-like, in his room. Usually Clyde was still out and about by the time Stensland got home, and when he got back, Stens was asleep with a half-eaten lo mein platter or a Big Mac and large fries next to him on the bed like a lover. So, essentially, Clyde didn’t see his host for three days straight.

By some miracle, though, Stensland finally got the day off. After 72 hours of horror, he woke up to the smell of bacon and blinked back stray tears.  _ Of course.  _ It was the day he and Clyde were supposed to sightsee, but Clyde had probably completely forgotten and had breakfast before he went out. 

The clank of a pan proved him wrong; Clyde was still there. He was apparently making eggs, too, Stens astutely observed as the smell of melted cheese and scrambled eggs wafted over to his room. It would be rude of him to ask for some, but  _ God _ , it smelled so much better than his usual Lucky Charms with all the marshmallows picked out and eaten separately. (Stens didn’t care if they were an insult to his culture; crunchy marshmallows were GOOD.)

Clyde hated him, though, Stensland was sure of it. Who wouldn’t hate a shite airbnb user whose home probably had a cockroach infestation and  _ also  _ never actually spoke to his guests? His only hope was that Clyde seemed solitary, so maybe he appreciated the quiet. And Stens hung onto that rope like a lifeline as he nonchalantly walked into the kitchen, which was really just a corner of the living room, and said brightly, “Good morning, Clyde!”

Clyde looked startled for a second, his back muscles visibly jumping through his shirt. “Stensland! Hey! You scared me there,” he said after a pause. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been here. Work has completely mowed my ass like grass. But I have slept for a full eleven hours, and while I still feel like I could pass out standing up, I am  _ ready  _ to see some sights with you!” Stensland punctuated his enthusiasm with an awkward little clap, which he immediately regretted. “Uh, unless you—“

“Oh! I thought you forgot!” Clyde exclaimed.

“I thought  _ you  _ forgot,” Stensland said, almost overlapping him.

“I thought, because you were real busy—“

“I thought maybe you thought that I was a corpse in the ground and there was absolutely no way to revive me so that I could go to the pier with you!”

Clyde’s brow furrowed, quite adorably, Stensland added in his mind. “ _ That’s  _ what you meant! When you were half asleep. You called it a ‘bridge with somethin’ on it’, I think, and I had no clue what you meant.”

“That’s because I’m a dunce when I’m asleep.” Stensland said quickly. He hadn’t forgotten that morning at all, and he’d pondered the meaning of Clyde’s hand carding through his hair before he slept. Maybe Clyde had trouble with bad dreams too, or he knew someone who did. He was probably just being nice, and Stensland had misconstrued it into something romantic. But then again, there was the whole drying tears scenario; Stens had no idea what to think anymore. All he knew is that his crush on Clyde was probably now describable as “raging”. 

“When do you want to leave?” Clyde asked, turning to his eggs. “You want some of these, also?”

“Only if you made extras,” said Stensland. The sheer volume of eggs in the pan was impressive, but Clyde was a big guy and could probably pack it all away easily if he wanted.

“Of course I did. You think I could eat this by myself?” Clyde frowned. “Actually, don’t answer that. But my brother’s shorter than me and he eats way more.”

Stens could easily eat an entire bag of cheddar and sour cream chips in an hour, but he figured that wasn’t the kind of thing to tell to a prospective crush until maybe the first date. You know, just in case Clyde wanted proof, which could cause Stensland’s acid reflux to get activated at exactly the wrong time. He wondered if his acid reflux would betray him in any other situations involving Clyde, like maybe having Clyde’s big d—

“You look real tired,” Clyde said, shocking Stensland out of whatever embarrassing reverie was starting in his head. “Help yourself.” He set a huge plate of eggs in front of Stens, who jumped like a startled, gay rabbit who was having thoughts that he shouldn’t be. “Hope this is how you like them. I’m not that good of a cook.”

Before Clyde even finished, Stens had stuffed a gigantic forkful of egg into his mouth. He gave Clyde a thumbs-up; they tasted  _ light years  _ better than the eggs Stensland tried to make, which always burned and stuck to the bottom of the pan.

“I like ‘em,” Stensland said finally, after swallowing half of his egg. “I’d even go as far as to say they’re fantastic.”

Clyde paused for a second before letting out a chuckle. It was just the quickest, tiniest laugh, but it made Stensland just want to grab Clyde’s face and kiss him. What if he did that thing that people always do in movies where they kiss someone without warning? Okay, on second thought, that was kind of rude, so first, Stensland would put his hand on Clyde’s cheek. There would be rough stubble there, but the skin underneath would be soft to the touch. And with Clyde, Stensland wouldn’t feel the need to try to come up with any kind of exaggerated pickup line. “Can I kiss you?” would suffice perfectly, and then they’d kiss and  _ then _ maybe Clyde would tell Stensland he loved him and Stensland  _ barely remembered anyone saying that to him _ —

“You all right, Stensland?” Clyde asked.

“Yeah, why?” Stensland knit his brows in confusion.

“Uh.” Clyde gestured toward Stensland’s face with the stump of his arm. “You’re crying a little.”

“Again?!” Stens sounded exasperated. Goddamnit, him and his constant crying like he was just a little baby. “It’s just a thing I do. Like I said. I’m sorry.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and the only thought in his mind was  _ Why am I breathing still? _ Clyde had been through so much more than Stensland had, and there was no way he’d have any sympathy for a loser whose only problems were being bullied in school, a dead mother and an uncaring father, a constant slew of mental health issues, and a life that seemed to be going absolutely nowhere in any direction.

Okay, Stens had problems. But at least he had all his body parts (besides his wisdom teeth, but that didn’t matter in this context, and he had them in a little pill box in his closet). Currently, his main problem was trying to steer Clyde’s attention away from his leaking eyes and onto the matters at hand. “You haven’t been to the pier yet, right?”

Clyde shook his head. “Actually, I was planning to go either tonight or tomorrow night. So, uh?” Clyde scratched his neck, embarrassed, and Stens grinned.

“Tonight, please. I might have work tomorrow, and currently I’m already asking Brienne to pick up my shift later this week, so I can’t cancel again.” He took another huge bite of egg. “So tonight is good. I definitely want to go tonight. Did you know there’s a restaurant called BISCUIT BITCH? And it has southern comfort food and stuff so you’ll probably like it. Not that I think that’s the only thing you eat, but… you know.”

To Stensland’s shock, Clyde hadn’t interrupted him once during all of that. He just stood there, nodding like what Stensland was saying was  _ actually important. _ It almost seemed impossible.

“Can you…” Clyde trailed off, looking down at the ground for just a split second. “Do you know if there are any fireworks tonight?”

Stensland shrugged. “Sorry Clyde, I don’t think so. They’re not  _ every night _ , I’d imagine that would be a real dent in the city’s budget, and I am  _ not  _ paying taxes for fireworks.”

“Oh, um, that’s good actually. I don’t like fireworks very much.” Clyde gestured toward his arm. “I’m, uh, a veteran. So it gets me a little nervous, I guess.”

_ Oh.  _ Stens felt stupid. He hadn’t even thought of that. What if Clyde was scared of crowds? Stensland used to be, when he was younger, and he wasn’t a big fan of loud noises himself. “No fireworks. But are you okay with crowds?”

Clyde nodded. His hair really did flow beautifully when his head moved.

Despite his best efforts, Stensland had to continue. “And also, you don’t have to feel embarrassed about your, uh, your PTSD because I kind of also have it, and a bunch of other stuff, and it’s fine. I’ll do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable.”

Clyde’s face split into a bigger grin than Stensland had seen from him before. He had  _ adorable gap teeth _ , Stens noticed, which sent his heart into high-speed mode. “Stensland, I am  _ so  _ glad you didn’t say ‘Thank you for your service.’ If I hear that one more time, I’m gonna just walk around with headphones on so I’ll never hear it again.” Clyde got up out of his chair and started toward the door.

Stensland grabbed his bag (yes, it was a purse, but it was a unisex one and he liked to have room for everything he could possibly need) and bounced toward the door, his cheeks hot. “Well then, Clyde Logan, let us sally forth to the bus stop.”

 

****

 

The ride to the pier was a long one, since Stensland lived out in the Seattle boondocks. But it was well-spent, with Clyde watching Stens play Candy Crush on his phone. Stens wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt the weight of Clyde’s head on his shoulder at one point, the tip of Clyde’s aquiline nose grazing his shoulder. He tried and failed not to think about it.

But once they got to the dock, Stensland sprang up. “We’re HEEEERE!” he sang to a startled Clyde, who had begun to nod off. “Sorry, I’m just excited.”

Stens was pretty used to the dock, but being there with Clyde made it feel like he’d never been there in his life. As soon as they left the bus, they were enveloped in different scents from the restaurants around them. On one side, street performers flipped in the air, and on the other, a school group stood drinking hot chocolate. The air was fairly brisk, but there wasn’t any snow on the ground, so the dock wouldn’t be slippery.

Stens looked out over the crowd. He wasn’t scared of it anymore, but sometimes he did get anxious. “It looks like there aren’t that many people. Do you want to go get some bitchy biscuits, or do you want coffee, or do you want no food?” He glanced toward Clyde, but Clyde was already looking at him.

Clyde’s face colored slightly, and Stens was sure that his face did the same. Clyde had been staring at him when there was so much to see, which must have meant  _ something. _ Or maybe Stensland was just being Stensland.

“I’d go for some bitchy biscuits,” Clyde rumbled, and Stensland had no choice but to let out a sharp little cackle, which made Clyde smile again.  _ God,  _ Stens really liked making him smile. Clyde was just  _ so perfect,  _ and Stens was trying not to be weird, but he was so tall and broad and smelled like one of those forest scented candles 24/7. And goddamn it, maybe Stensland wasn’t a condor all the time, but he was going to try to be one for just this one tiny little second.

Stensland wrapped his hand around Clyde’s, squeezing ever so slightly. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder even than the cheers coming from the direction of the crowd watching the street performers. What if he was all wrong about this? Stensland looked up at Clyde, almost inquisitive, the couple of inches Clyde had on him seeming like miles.

Clyde squeezed his hand back. Stensland felt like Atlas, but if he’d just said “Fuck it,” and dropped the earth.

“Gotta make sure I don’t get lost,” Clyde said softly, almost shyly. “On my way to the bitchy biscuits, I mean.”

“They have  _ grits _ ,” Stensland said quickly. He had no idea how to follow up his daring feat of hand-holding. “You probably like— okay, I’m making assumptions, but you probably like grits and they have them. As for me, I’m getting the Cheesy Pork n Bitch, which has bacon on it. It’s amazing. It’s like having a huge party in your mouth, but not the frat house kind. Have you ever been to a frat house? Oh god,  _ never  _ go to one of those dens of iniquity. I swear I almost lost my ability to swallow after drinking from the same hobo’s boot—“

“Stens,” Clyde said gently. “I really like holdin’ your hand.”

“Oh,” said Stensland, ever the wordsmith. Clyde’s hand was so warm, and huge, and rough in a comforting way. Stensland never wanted to let go. He wasn’t even sure if he physically could.

“And I really like bein’ with you, too. I kind of missed you. Um, when you had work, I mean.” Clyde looked like he was trying to shrink into himself, and Stensland desperately wanted him not to. He wanted Clyde to be able to live without collapsing in on himself, because Stensland had been like that for years, and it was no way to live.

“I missed you, too, Clyde. We should do this more. I could show you some other stuff. I know you probably want to go to the Space Needle, which is fine because I haven’t been because I wasn’t able to afford it before working at Soft Solutions. So I’d like to do that.”

Clyde chuckled and held Stensland’s hand more tightly. “You’re already asking me on a second date?” His voice was so quiet that Stens had to lean in to hear him.

_ So it was a date. He was on a date with Clyde Logan of the big hands and gorgeous eyes and easy smile. _

“I suppose I am,” Stensland said, trying to radiate some sort of confidence that didn’t betray the fact that he wanted to start skipping.

“Well, I accept,” Clyde said. Stensland wanted to scream.

Before Stensland could say anything else, they arrived at the front door of Bagel Bitch. Once inside, Clyde cracked a smile when he saw the menu. 

“I’ll get the Hot Mess Bitch,” he said.

_ He’ll get more than one Hot Mess Bitch _ , Stensland thought. Clyde already had him by his oversensitive heartstrings.

“And I will get the Cheesy Pork n Bitch,” Stensland declared, snapping his menu shut.

The biscuits were “damn good,” according to Clyde, and Stensland felt completely full afterwards. The sun was already starting to set, and they haven’t even made it to—

“The Ferris wheel! Clyde, we should go on it!” Stens exclaimed as they ventured back onto the boardwalk. “It’s  _ huge _ ! And very picturesque.”

That wasn’t the only reason Stensland wanted to get on the Ferris wheel. He figured that a Ferris wheel looking out over the city at sunset would be a perfect first kiss spot for him and Clyde. Hopefully no one else would be in the car with them, or else Stensland would probably be far too embarrassed to try anything, and he wanted this to go well. He would give anything to stand with Clyde under the harsh light of the ride, alone in their little car; he’d give up his job, his flat, maybe even his  _ bong  _ to have this.

“Well? You comin’?” Clyde was already three steps ahead of Stensland, his arm stretched backwards in order to keep Stensland’s hand in his. Stensland wound himself around Clyde’s arm, somehow slotting his shoulder against Clyde’s so that the taller man’s arm was around him. And Clyde actually  _ grinned.  _ “Stensland, forgive me if I’m a little bit…” He stopped, pursing his full lips, trying to find the right words. “I haven’t actually been on a date since a real long time ago. Uh, junior year of high school.”

“That’s okay!” Stensland said. “That’s kind of cute, actually. I think it’s a good idea to wait until you find the right person. Although, the person who you might think is the right person might end up being married, or straight, or they might say you’re a jobless bum— not you, someone said that to me— but you have to at least try.”

“Well, that person’s wrong. You got a job and you work really hard,” Clyde said softly. “People can be piles of horse shit.”

Stensland nodded. He had a job he loved, a best friend of sorts in Hannah, and now maybe even a boyfriend. He wasn’t Stensland the failure anymore, though he wasn’t quite Stensland the condor. “It’s just… before these last couple months, I was kind of pointless as a person.”

The rest of the walk to the Ferris wheel consisted of Stensland freezing and talking his ass off, while Clyde listened with the same rapt attention that he always did. Stensland wasn’t quite used to it, and he wondered whether Clyde was really even listening to him. But when his hand tightened around Clyde’s and Clyde squeezed back, Stensland could tell that every bit of Clyde’s attention was on him. And then finally,  _ finally, _ the two men came to the Ferris wheel, which was blinking and almost sizzling with electricity. It echoed Stensland’s veins perfectly.

He and Clyde got into their car in near silence. Clyde’s thumb brushed against Stensland’s hand, light as a whisper.

“You okay? You scared of heights?” Clyde asked softly.

“No— I mean yes, but I’m not scared of this in particular. I’m more of a fear-of-rollercoasters type of guy, because the drops really make my stomach hurt and one time I hurled on someone—“ Clyde’s hand brushing against Stensland’s knuckles again silenced him. The sweetness of the gesture almost made Stensland choke up. The Ferris wheel creaked and turned until Stensland felt like he was soaring into the sky. Clyde was across from him and everything was  _ so fucking perfect _ , with the city lights gleaming behind Clyde’s head of inky hair. Stensland opened his mouth, but he had no idea what would come out. Would he even form words? Would he just wordlessly kiss Clyde and ruin it all? 

Turns out, Stensland didn’t have to wonder what he would say, because an absolutely  _ enormous  _ belch rose up from his stomach and burst forth. It tasted of biscuits. Thankfully, he stopped himself from further humiliation by swallowing the sob that almost followed. He had been  _ so close _ , he thought this was going to work out, and he had to go and ruin it again with his big, fat, belchy mouth. 

Clyde’s eyebrows knitted together. “You all right, Stensland?”

Stens coughed into his elbow, trying to hide his face. “Yeah. Just the biscuit, I guess. Really messes with my digestion.”  _ Shut up shut up shut up!! _

“All right,” said Clyde. He looked out the window behind Stensland, who was in the throes of death. The Ferris wheel jerked and began its descent again. Stensland’s breathing was deafening in his ears.

He inhaled, feeling his stomach twist. They were almost to the bottom, and Clyde’s flesh hand was curled into a fist. Even Stensland’s mantra wasn’t working, because he couldn’t get himself to believe it. Clyde was so far out of Stensland’s league, with his deep, slow voice and warm hand. Stensland shouldn’t have ever gotten his stupid little hopes up. What if he was just a toy for Clyde, like he had been for Morgan and everyone before that?

The bottom of the wheel was rapidly approaching, and Stensland could make out the faces of the people in the line below. He counted them, trying to get his mind off of the situation. He closed his eyes, attempting to quell the tears that were itching to pour out.

“Stens?” Clyde’s voice sounded much closer than before.

“Yeah?” Stens said. It was barely more than a squeak. He turned to find Clyde next to him. For all his size, Clyde Logan somehow looked so  _ small _ in that moment, and Stensland almost forgot everything that had happened, because even though Clyde thought he was disgusting, Clyde was still so lovely, and at least they had today.

“Can I kiss you?” Clyde said to his shoes.

Stensland had to have heard wrong. “What was that?”

“Can I kiss you before we have to get out?” Clyde was playing with a loose thread on his jeans.

Stensland’s breath was knocked out of him. He needed to be grand, he needed to be romantic for Clyde’s first kiss in decades. It had to be absolutely perfect, and his next words were crucial.

“Yeah,” he said.

Their teeth clacked together, because Stensland hadn’t quite finished saying “yeah”, and it was obvious that Clyde was out of practice. Stensland didn’t care. Clyde’s lips were soft and plush, and the tickle of his mustache was exciting in a way Stensland had never experienced. Stensland scooted closer, needing more contact, and suddenly he was in Clyde’s lap, and they were impossibly closer than before. He was so big, and warm, and when Stens bit his lip, he let out a soft noise.

When Clyde pulled away, Stensland realized he was crying. He also realized that they were at the bottom and most likely everyone had seen that. But he didn’t care. He hung onto Clyde as they stepped out of the car, and kept hanging on until they got to the bus stop. The bus was empty except for a woman reading the paper in the back, so Stensland ventured another kiss with Clyde. Clyde was already getting better at it, and when Stensland softly grazed his tongue against Clyde’s lips, Clyde opened his mouth to let 

Stensland in. Stensland giggled as his tongue ran across the gap in Clyde’s teeth, and Clyde breathed a sigh into his mouth. Clyde’s flesh hand tightened around Stensland’s waist, and his metal one ran up and down his side.

Clyde pulled back, needing air. “Stens,” he whispered, his hand still on Stensland’s waist. 

“Clyde,” Stensland replied, the picture of eloquence. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

“You’re real small,” Clyde said. Stensland snorted. “You’re tall, but you’re also small.”

Stensland usually hated when people said that, but with Clyde, it was endearing. “You’re just  _ big.  _ I’m of average size, actually. I’m not underweight or anything. I used to be, but I ate one too many ramen packets, I guess. Or I guess not one too many, if I was underweight. But you know—“

He was silenced by Clyde’s searching lips again. This time, when Clyde pulled away, Stens kissed his cheek, then his jaw, which elicited another soft noise from the larger man. He held Clyde’s face in his hands, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks and looking into his liquid brown eyes. This was so much better than he’d imagined.

“How did I— you’re perfect,” Clyde said suddenly.

Stensland shook his head vigorously. He felt like his chest was bursting with emotions. He would  _ not  _ cry on the bus.

“Okay, well, you’re perfect to me. Right now,” said Clyde slowly, like he had never said anything like it before. Like Stens was the first person he’d ever felt this way about.

Stensland cried on the bus. He also cried getting off the bus, and all the way to his house, and as he was walking up the stairs with Clyde. And Clyde kissed him through it, not caring if Stensland was sniffling or generally moist.

Stensland wouldn’t be so foolish to already tell Clyde he loved him. But for once, he wasn’t worried that he was the emotional one. Clyde felt the same, or else why would he let Stensland throw his arm around him and rest on his shoulder while they sat on the couch? Why did he have the same look of wonder that Stensland did whenever they kissed? 

Stensland fell asleep curled up against Clyde’s chest, a big hand in his fiery hair and both of their heartbeats thumping in his ears.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know your favorite Stens lines, because I always like to know. also, yes, the smut is happening quite soon xoxo
> 
> follow me on the tweet @remorselessgay

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO fucking excited for you guys to read this. I love this little ginger mess and his Bigg boyfriend so much so I decided to write about how they meet. Stens always seems to meet Clyde in WV, so I decided to switch it up a bit. 
> 
> Notes:  
> -the title is from Texas Reznikoff by Mitski because I think of them whenever I listen to it.  
> -in the movie, it’s unclear whether Clyde and Jimmy live in West Virginia or North Carolina (which is weird because those states don’t even border each other lmao) but I decided Clyde is from WV in this fic.


End file.
